


burden of proof

by acchikocchi



Category: Tenimyu RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:58:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11894376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acchikocchi/pseuds/acchikocchi
Summary: It's not like Tetsuya hasn't thought about it before.





	burden of proof

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to june for whipping this into shape. someday you will get the 20,000 word makihira fic you deserve. until then, i'm sorry they're like this.

It’s not like Tetsuya hasn’t thought about it before. He’s not the brightest, as his friends and loved ones will cheerfully tell whoever listens, but he’s not that dumb. He’s not that narcissistic, either—no more than enough to work for Watanabe. Just because A equals B does not mean A equals C, in the absence of a universal case.

He did graduate from college. People tend to forget that.

Anyway. The thought’s crossed his mind. Sometimes worried _(what would I do)_ , sometimes confused _(wouldn’t he tell me)_ —but always hypothetical. And he’s never been given a reason to think it’s anything other than that.

Especially now that he’s here in another tiny Tokyo bar with good beer and high prices, the sort of place he and Yuichiro always go together, because Yuichiro wants him to meet his new friend, and, well. He’s not that dumb.

He’s met Kubota before, or thinks he has. Sometimes it’s hard to keep track. Tetsuya genuinely likes most of the guys (and girls—women? ladies?) he works with, which makes it weirdly hard to differentiate, after they’ve gone their separate ways. There are the people he gets along with, and then there are the people that matter. 

“Makki!” Yuichiro calls, with an extra trill. Performing, which Tetsuya always finds funny and a little bit endearing, because it’s so obvious. To him at least. “You’re late!”

Kubota, sitting next to him, looks a little railroaded. By the Yuichiro Express, no doubt. “Yeah, yeah,” Tetsuya says. “We can’t all be as perfect as you.”

“Don’t I know it. Sit down,” Yuichiro says, smiling at him so the skin around his eyes crinkles, the only sign he’s not still nineteen. Tetsuya smiles back and obeys. “Makki, Hide. Hide, Makki.”

Kubota gives him a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, uh, Makita-san.”

Tetsuya tries not to look like he’s giving Kubota an obvious once-over. There’s that low-lying thought that’s always there when he meets Yuichiro’s friends, _those_ friends—would he have known, otherwise? It’s a stupid thing to think about and he’d rather get run over by a truck than let Yuichiro know. So he makes sure it’s squashed far down where it won’t come back up and gives Kubota a smile and a friendly nod. “Hey. Good to meet you.”

“Hide’s doing the tennis thing right now,” Yuichiro adds.

Kubota looks embarrassed. “Uh, yes. Rikkai.”

Tetsuya nods. No shame in tennis. “Nice. How’s it going?”

Kubota’s hesitation speaks for him. “It’s… pretty good…”

“Hide’s not as lucky as we were,” Yuichiro says, leaning forward on his elbows. “But that doesn’t matter, we’ll come see your next show. Won’t we, Makki?”

“Sure,” Tetsuya agrees, and “You will?” Kubota says. He clears his throat and looks at Tetsuya. “By the way, Yuichiro said you’re Watanabe? D-Boys?”

The first name doesn’t get by Tetsuya. “Yeah. Home sweet home. How about you?”

“Me? Oh, Avex.” Aha. Kubota goes on, though. “I was actually in a show, a tv series, with Yanagishita-kun not too long ago. Yanagishita Tomo.”

“No kidding,” Tetsuya says. Maybe they have met, then. Yuichiro’s got that distinctly worshipful look in his eyes he always does when Tomo comes up, something that will never fail to amuse Tetsuya. “Wow,” he teases, “your very favorite senpai.”

“So what,” Yuichiro says. Kubota looks between them like he’s not sure whether or not it’s a joke. Tetsuya jerks a thumb at Yuichiro. “This one is Tomo’s number one fan. Totally brainwashed.” He drops his voice. “How awful was he. Tell me the truth.”

“Um,” Kubota says. “Well. Seto-san was there, so.”

Tetsuya almost chokes on his own laugh. Kubota seems to relax a tiny bit.

“Tell Makki about Fukuoka,” Yuichiro puts in, and Kubota’s stiffness cracks a little bit more as he bites back a laugh.

Their drinks arrive in the middle of Kubota’s story, which ends with someone on Seigaku locked out of a hotel room in Fukuoka belting someone else’s solo in only a towel, and all three of them laughing probably harder than the story deserves. Conversation is easy enough, especially with Yuichiro around—he’s always been good at smoothing over awkward spots when he wants to go to the trouble, and he’s making a special effort tonight.

There’s just one thing that’s off, really, as their glasses get emptier. Tetsuya gets the weird feeling that Kubota is trying to… play to him?

He’s not a narcissist, but he is an actor. He knows when he’s the audience. And that’s weird because it doesn’t seem to match with what he’d assumed about why they were all there.

But the more he turns it over, in the back of his head, the more he wonders if he was wrong about that. Yuichiro hasn’t acted all that differently from usual. Not at all, really. It’s just like if they went out for a drink with Luke or Akiyama or someone.

He’s never seen Yuichiro with a crush, actually, let alone—feelings. He’s not sure he’d even know what it looked like.

So maybe he was wrong. Maybe Yuichiro brought his friend here for a different reason. Maybe—

He slants a look at Yuichiro. He wouldn’t… probably.

Would he?

Yuichiro catches his glance and winks. It makes Tetsuya snort, for no other particular reason than that he knows something’s up, and Yuichiro grins wide.

Kubota breaks off. “What?”

“Oh, um,” Tetsuya says, trying to think of something that won’t make him sound like an asshole, and Yuichiro says easily—charmingly—“Nothing. Inside joke.”

Kubota smiles hesitantly, looking from one of them to the other. “How long have you known each other, anyway?”

They look at each other.

“Too long.”

“Way too long.”

“Six years,” Tetsuya says, “right?”

“Like I said,” Yuichiro repeats. “Way too long.”

Tetsuya smiles, because he knows what Yuichiro really means, and Yuichiro catches his eye and—it’s nice to understand someone like this.

Yuichiro gets up. “Next round’s on me. What are we having?”

“Another pint,” says Tetsuya.

“Whiskey sour,” says Kubota.

“Coming right up,” Yuichiro sing-songs. “Makki, spot me a couple thousand.”

“Excuse me?” Tetsuya’s trying to look indignant, he really is, but he can feel himself grinning, because he knew this was coming, he knew it. He knows all of Yuichiro’s punchlines and they still make him laugh. Yuichiro’s beaming at him totally shamelessly. “The next round is on who, again?”

“Me,” Yuichiro says. “Through you. Two thousand, Makki.”

He pulls out his wallet and hands over the bills, still shaking his head and still not quite able to stop smiling.

“Thanks, old man.” Yuichiro neatly plucks the bills from his hand and makes for the bar. He knocks against Tetsuya’s shoulder on the way, purposefully obnoxious, and Tetsuya winces in mock pain, which makes Yuichiro laugh. Giggle, to be honest, and (he can hear Yuichiro’s voice in his head) Tetsuya is _scrupulously_ honest.

He gets his own dumb smile under control. When he’s around Yuichiro he always forgets he’s not nineteen still.

It’s only when he stops smiling that he realizes he’s alone with Kubota now and that—was that Yuichiro’s intention all along?

Tetsuya risks a glance; Kubota's already watching him. They both look away. They spend a minute pretending to push around their empties, checking their phones with a "Sorry," and "Just a sec." No new messages, unsurprising since the number one culprit is twenty feet away laughing with the bartender. Tetsuya puts his phone down and cracks his neck. It’s 9:30, still early.

"So, um, Makita-san," Kubota starts, and Tetsuya cuts him off, making a face.

"Just Makita is fine."

"Sorry, I just haven’t—" Kubota laughs, self-conscious. "I, uh, haven’t really… met anyone. Yuu knows. Until now."

 _That’s my nickname,_ is Tetsuya’s first, absurd thought. That’s literally everyone’s nickname, Yuuta and Dai-chan and Teyu and the rest. The second is that he was right.

He has about one second left before it gets weird. "Oh yeah?" he says. He chuckles, because laughter is his natural reaction to everything. "I’m honored."

"Yeah, um. I know you’re close. So I don’t want to…" Kubota trails off, eyes following Yuichiro, where he’s leaning on the counter and treating the bartender to his most charming smile.

This poor guy must have it bad. Tetsuya spares him a moment of sympathy because even if they’re, well, whatever, it’s not mutual. Is it?

"Hey," he said. "No pressure. And, I mean, if Yuu likes you."

Kubota’s mouth goes up a little, but it’s not quite the smile Tetsuya was expecting. In fact, Tetsuya can’t quite read his expression. It’s not crestfallen, exactly, but— "He didn’t tell you."

He thought he’d been doing a pretty good job playing it off. Guess not. Tetsuya keeps his smile easy. "That’s how he does it, mostly. He’ll drop a million cryptic hints and then shove you face first into the middle of whatever it is. Anything to avoid talking about his feelings."

Kubota looks a little taken aback and Tetsuya wonders if he was too blunt. He meant it affectionately—he always does. It’s also the truth. Maybe that’s not something he should have said to Yuichiro’s new whatever though.

Who is, probably, someone he’s going to be spending a lot of time with in the future, so he should make an effort, too. "Enough about him," Tetsuya says, the fondness real, and enough to let Kubota know it’s a joke. "What are you into?"

Kubota blinks at him, and Tetsuya realizes too late how that sounds. He can feel his face heating up and he can’t help holding up a hand in denial. "Uh. I mean, like. Hobbies?"

"Oh. Well." Kubota shrugs. "Lately I’ve been pretty busy with work, which makes it hard to keep up with anything…"

"I get that," Tetsuya says, with feeling, and they share maybe their single most genuine moment of connection all night.

"I do a lot of training," Kubota offers.

"When you say training…"

"Like crossfit?"

Tetsuya is vaguely aware that such a thing as crossfit exists. "Huh," he says. "Cool." He doesn’t know why he’s surprised that this is Yuichiro’s type, but he is, a little bit. He rubs a hand against his neck, an old awkward habit. "Are you from Tokyo, or?"

Kubota shakes his head. "Fukuoka."

"No kidding," Tetsuya says, again. "Yuu’s from Nagasaki."

"I know," Kubota says, which, duh, of course he knows.

"Right, yeah. My bad." He scratches the back of his head. "Get back often?"

Kubota shrugs again. "When I can."

They fall silent. Tetsuya’s not the world’s most amazing conversationalist but he usually gets by okay. This isn’t working. Or is it his imagination?

Maybe it’s that thought squashed far down. That extra awareness.

Thank god, _thank god_ , at that moment a familiar light voice drawls, "Miss me?"

Tetsuya twists around and looks up. Yuichiro has the tray of drinks in one hand. His voice is light but his face isn’t. His eyes flick from Tetsuya, to Kubota, back to Tetsuya, and Tetsuya sees it. He knows what they were talking about. He knows Tetsuya knows. Maybe that was the point all along.

So Tetsuya smiles at him—the best smile he has, the warmest, friendliest smile that that he can manage to encompass everything Yuichiro means to him, because Yuichiro deserves that.

And just like that—

It’s not obvious. But he’s known Hirata Yuichiro for seven years and he can see it in his face. Something’s wrong.

"Of course" he says, too late. Yuichiro hands him his pint, and Kubota his whiskey sour. He’s got a highball for himself. He takes his seat again on Kubota’s side only—well. Closer.

It’s not his imagination because Kubota also gives Yuichiro a sideways look, like he’s surprised. But not in a bad way.

"Cheers," Yuichiro says, leaning forward. Glasses clink. Somehow Kubota ends up with an arm draped along the back of the seat. It’s not—quite—anything, because Yuichiro doesn’t lean back. But.

Yuichiro turns to Kubota. "What were you talking about?" he asks, and honest-to-god bats his eyelashes.

"Oh," Kubota says, eyes darting to Tetsuya, "er…"

"Crossfit," Tetsuya says.

Normally, this would the cue for approximately one thousand jokes about his age, muscle definition, and general decrepitude. Not this time. Instead Yuichiro flashes a look at Kubota, one that Tetsuya’s seen a million times before but that somehow seems a lot more… suggestive, now.

"Hide’s quite an athlete."

If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t notice. But he does, and he does.

It goes from there. Maybe it was Tetsuya’s imagination, that he thought something was wrong. Because Yuichiro seems perfectly happy right now, throwing comments across to Tetsuya and leaning in close to Kubota, finding reasons to touch his arm, sharing a conspiratorial grin at every not-so-sly innuendo, drawing Kubota with him little by little until they’re on a different level from Tetsuya entirely. It’s almost like—

Well, he wondered what Yuichiro with feelings would be like, and now he knows. And he’ll be damned if he lets even a single shred of discomfort show, when Yuichiro trusted him.

He just can’t help wondering, was this always a side of him that Tetsuya just never got?

The second round goes down. Tetsuya gets the third. When he gets back, Yuichiro and Kubota are talking about some kind of clearly scandalous happening involving people Tetsuya doesn’t know. He can guess why. They don’t stop when he sits down, either. He finds himself checking his phone now. He opens a text to Teyu, closes it again. This isn’t worth sharing. It’s a stupid feeling, it just—

Feels like it’s on purpose.

That’s all.

The scandal runs its course and they move on to general industry gossip. This, at least, Tetsuya knows. Yuichiro, the lightest lightweight Tetsuya has ever met, was flushed before he was even done with his first beer; he’s now at the stage where everything is met with uncontrollable giggles, his right hand wrapped firmly around Kubota’s bicep. Nothing Tetsuya hasn’t seen every other time they’ve gone drinking, just—he knows.

"On to the next stop?" Kubota suggests, when the third round is gone. Yuichiro nods enthusiastically.

"I should go, actually," Tetsuya says. "Early call time tomorrow."

"You should stay," Yuichiro says, but it doesn’t have the usual wheedling-slash-demanding tone it does when Yuichiro is trying to talk him around.

"Sorry," Tetsuya says, and half means it. It’s only half past 10, which is early by their standards. But that’s fine. The rest of the night is pretty much a wash at this point.

They emerge into the chill night, Yuichiro pulling Kubota with him by the elbow. Kubota laughs, pushing up his glasses. They’re talking about yet another person he barely knows, a friend of theirs named Tomoki. Tetsuya trails behind a few steps on purpose.

There’s the subway entrance. A tiny, ugly part of him wants to let it go at that. Let Yuichiro be the one left wondering, for once.

Most of the time he doesn’t care and he doesn’t like to keep track. Sometimes, though. Sometimes, he’s only human and as petty as the next guy. Sometimes, he gets frustrated, too. Like the burden of proof that they’re friends is all on him.

But Yuichiro trusted him. And he deserves better than that.

He comes up behind Yuichiro and touches his shoulder.

"Hey," he says. "Yuu."

Yuichiro goes stiff under his hand. He’s definitely upset. "What?"

"Can I talk to you for a second?"

There’s the slightest pause before Yuichiro answers.

"Give us a minute?" He smiles at Kubota. "I’ll catch right up."

"Sure," Kubota says, looking from Yuichiro to Tetsuya and back. "I’ll just, uh, be up there."

Kubota’s footsteps trail away. Tetsuya doesn’t see him go. Yuichiro finally turns around to face him.

"What is it, Tecchan?"

Sometimes, when Yuichiro uses that nickname, it’s because he’s feeling extra playful, or extra affectionate. Sometimes, dripping with poisonous sweetness, it’s because he wants to be an asshole. This is one of those times.

Tetsuya cuts to the chase. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Why would you ask?"

"I know you’re upset."

Yuichiro doesn’t say anything.

When Yuichiro gets like this, you just have to push until he gives way. "I didn’t mean to. You know that, right? You know I—if I do stupid shit, I want you to tell me."

"Ugh, stop it," Yuichiro says, the same thing he says when he’s being flippant, except it sounds—it really does sound like he’s upset.

So Tetsuya can’t stop. "Is it because, uh, because I was talking with Kubota?"

Yuichiro doesn’t say anything for a long, long moment. Long enough that Tetsuya thinks maybe this is it. "If I looked like I had a problem—you know I don’t, right? You know you’re still—"

Yuichiro’s voice cuts across his. "I know."

Tetsuya feels like he’s like thrashing around in the dark shallows, groping for driftwood that’s almost in reach but never quite in his grasp. It doesn’t stop him from trying again. "Kubota seems like a good guy."

Yuichiro’s laugh is dry, breathless. "I don’t know about that."

That’s typical Yuichiro, so Tetsuya soldiers on. "I don’t what exactly, uh, how much it means to you, but. I really, you know. I’m glad you introduced us."

Glad. He tries to put everything in that word—that he’s glad Yuichiro trusts him, that it means everything to him, that he’d never do anything to betray that trust, if he could help it.

In the lamplight, Yuichiro’s face is wide open. If Tetsuya looked he could see all the way down. He feels it again, that thing. That hypothesis.

Yuichiro looks down and it’s gone.

"Okay," Yuichiro says. "You didn’t do anything. By the way."

A twisted, gnarled up knot inside Tetsuya that he’d barely realized was there comes undone. He lets out a breath. "You sure?"

"Sure."

He knocks a fist against Yuichiro’s shoulder. "And you’d tell me if I did."

"Yeah."

He’s not sure that’s true, but that’s fine. He’s ready to keep pushing.

Yuichiro finally looks up. "Thanks. Tecchan."

He means it this time. "Any time," Tetsuya says, and without further ado hauls Yuichiro in for a tight hug.

"Stop, what are you doing," Yuichiro says, muffled in his jacket, pretending to be dead weight even as he leans into the hug.

"You have my approval," Tetsuya says, exaggeratedly magnanimous, and releases him. "I mean it."

"Who wants it, your taste is awful."

"Your face is awful."

Yuichiro gasps. "Excuse you, my face is adorable."

Their voices have risen and a movement catches Tetsuya’s eye—Kubota, up ahead, trying not to look too obviously curious.

"You, uh." He nods toward Kubota.

"Yeah," Yuichiro says, but he doesn’t move.

"I’ll see you later?" He likes to go for something concrete, with Yuichiro.

Yuichiro nods. "I’ll text you."

"Okay," Tetsuya says, even though he knows that means he’ll be the one, in a couple days, to write _Whats the latest in Yuuland?_

"Night, Makki," Yuichiro says, and turns away.

Tetsuya lingers by the subway entrance for a minute. He can hear Yuichiro’s voice, " _Sorry for the wait_ ," playful again, and Kubota murmur something in response. It’s probably his imagination, but Kubota sounds a little flirtatious, too.

He’s not that narcissistic. He’s not that bright. But he graduated from college, and he knows this much. The only thing you can do with a hypothesis is test it.

 _Hey_ , he types, alone in his apartment, the buzz of alcohol slowly fading. _I have a question. Is it just my imagination or_

No.

_This is gonna sound stupid but I was just wondering if you've ever_

No.

_Hey Yuu. Hope you had a good night. Can we talk soon? I have a question for you._

The message sits there, staring up at him, unsent.

He presses the delete key, one character at a time, until there’s nothing left but the blinking cursor. Slowly, he taps out a new message.

_Thanks for the night out. See you soon._

He doesn’t wait for an answer, or lack thereof. He turns off his phone, turns off the light, and closes his eyes.

It’s a long time before he falls asleep.


End file.
